Insomnia Thoughts
by BasketKiwi
Summary: Ron's awake at 3:45am, not that he's looking, and 'wandering mind' doesn't quite say it all. No ship, very short and very scatter brained, but I'm pretending it's supposed to be that way.


I'm not sure what time it is right now. I mean, I could always just glance over at the clock, but that would kind of ruin it, ya know?

No, I don't suppose you do.

Yeah. Well, that's not exactly your fault. I mean, you can't just expect people to understand you. You can't go around living in some kind of story, where everyone understands each other's deep thoughts and hidden meanings, because that's not the way it works in real life. Half the time people nod meaningfully when they have no idea what you're _not _saying; the other half they think they know, but they just get it wrong.

But anyway, that's not the point. The point is, that I'm not sure what time it is right now and I'm really rather determined to not care. Not even not to care, but to deliberately _not_ care.

I mean, there's a point where you can care about something, one where you don't care, and then there's the place in between where you don't _not_ care, you just don't really care. If you read about someone who died in the _Daily Prophet_, you don't not care, because that's a _life _that's just been taken, and there's a family - and those people who never got the chance to become family - surrounding it and you know what it's like to be part of that family; but you don't really care. Not really. You can't bring yourself to cry about it, to feel genuinely sad, because you have no attachment to them and the species bond that exists, because you are both human, both mankind, isn't enough to make you care. But you don't "not care".

Yeah, well this isn't one of those times. This time I really don't care. What time it is, that is. Because I'm going to fall asleep aaany second now. I'm telling you, I can feel my eyelids drooping. Droooooping. It's just very _slow_ droopage, is all. Which is really the best kind, for sleeping. Oh, and look at that! That was _totally_ a yawn! Whoo! ...Yeah. That was a sigh, huh? Crap. Maybe it was such a tired yawn that... Oh, never mind, the point is that I don't care what time it is because I'm going to be falling asleep soon, yawn or no. Because I've got slowly drooping eyelids and that's a sure sign of tiredness. Not even tiredness, actually, because it so much _deeper_ than that, ya know? It's like... _sleepiness._ That's it.

You really don't know, do you?

Don't worry, I guess I don't expect you to. No doubt you're an "early to bed, early to rise" bugger, eh? Yeah, that's what I thought. Lucky duck. How's it feel to sleep during that whole...dark period that happens? After the light one, you know? Yeah, how's it feel to wake up to the sunrise and not fall asleep to it? Bet it's nice.

Oh God Almighty in Heaven with a basket of Strawberry Cheesecake, is it possible to be any more pathetic than I am right now? I guess so. There might be, like, a baby swan (somewhere) with– well, with no feet. Or one foot maybe, and one and a half wings, and a chipped beak. And let me remind you it's a _baby_ swan. If not pathetic, at least very pitiful and horribly sad and- Aforementioned God with Cheesecake! Did I just come up with that image? What kind of sick jerk am I? Poor swan-baby. Swanlet? Actually, I think the proper term for a baby swan is "cygnet".

That's what I get from hanging around that crazy woman all the time; some of those completely useless, terribly boring, gosh-look-a-blade-of-grass-it's-so-much-more-interesting-than-whatever-she's-saying facts are bound to wear off on you. Did you know the little plastic piece at the end of your shoelace is called an "aglet"? See, this is the kind of thing I pick up! It would never be something actually useful, like the how to include the 12 uses of dragon blood in order of discovery in a two hundred word essay. No. Because that one time she mentioned that stuff, it'd be too convenient for any of it to have rubbed off. Instead I get the cygnet and the aglet. Goody.

But now I've lost my train of thought again, which is probably a good thing since I'm currently in a rather desperate battle of the wills with myself, trying not to look at the numbers floating in the air over my wand. (That stupid alarm-clock spell doesn't even work anyway. Harry wakes me up every morning just as he's scrambling out the door and my wand is always rather far away from its original place on my drawers. Probably Harry throws something at it when it wakes him up. Honestly, some people just _aren't_ morning people.)

Soo, about that whole eyelid-drooping business. I reckon I must be pretty close to finished. With the eye-closing thing. Yeah. Probably I'll be asleep before I finish thinking this sentence to myself. Or maybe possibly it may be perhaps this one. My Aunt Jessica's frog used to move his back legs in a distinctly dance-like fashion that drove my mum crazy because she was afraid of pelvic thrusts. Ya know, I thought it might have been that one.

Okay, I'm not falling asleep any time soon.

And there are seven of us, for crying out loud, I'm pretty sure my mum is no stranger to pelvic movements.

Oh, good God Almighty in Heaven with a basket of Strawberry Cheesecake and a tray of Purple Onion Rings. I am _so_ going to have nightmares tonight. 3:45 AM. Well, morning then. _So_ many awful, horrible, disturbing nightmares. Twiiitch.


End file.
